


Earth: A Kitty

by executrix



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Cats, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the "Liberated" kink meme prompt, "The Liberator acquires a cat. Blake fucking adores this cat. Avon takes this personally.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earth: A Kitty

Vila wrinkled his nose. “Mice. Look, you can see the little presents they left us.” 

“How’d we manage to get mice on a spaceship?” Jenna asked, turning towards Zen, but Gan answered first. “All those cartons of produce from Keiretsu. Plenty of room for them to hide.” 

“Fresh produce contributes nutritional and aesthetic value,” Cally said defensively. 

“No one blames you, Cally,” Gan lied. 

+Information+ Zen said. +Domesticated felines have frequently been deployed for pest-control purposes combined with companionship.+

“I don’t know if this is a healthy environment for a pet,” Gan said. “Wouldn’t we always be worried that the cat wasn’t happy?”

“If a cat isn’t happy, you’d KNOW,” Vila said.

Two days later, after ample research, Jenna said, “Main screen, please, Zen. There. We ought to get one like that. Isn’t she lovely?”

“Looks bad-tempered,” Vila said. “And why’s its nose all squashed up like that?”

“Perhaps for ease in flat-packing and using the entire carton,” Avon suggested. 

“Dunno,” Vila said. “It looks like *Servalan* would have a cat like that, not us. That’s a villain’s cat, that is.”

“And I suppose you’ve got a better idea,” Jenna said, realizing her mistake as Avon sent a presentation to main screen, pushing off Jenna’s contribution. The crew read the description of the Siamese cat personality that Avon had thoughtfully included, and fell about laughing. “It’s perfect,” Vila said. “Except, you haven’t got blue eyes.” 

“At least I made a contribution,” Avon said. “What did you do?”

“Would’ve taken you forever to figure out about the mice, wasn’t for me.”

In true Maoist terms, they had achieved leadership from the ground up, and had succeeded in arguing with each other all by themselves. But a number of ground missions had sensitized them to the vital importance of being able to count up to six.

The quintet gazed at each other in fear, knowing that if Blake was late that probably meant he would produce either a new battle plan…or a cat. 

It was, it was, the cat. Blake put a cardboard carton on the center Flight Deck table, then lifted out a large mackerel-striped gray cat of the utmost disreputability. One of its eyes was scarred shut. The opposite ear had been torn and mended crooked.

“And what is the name of this individual?” Orac asked fastidiously. The crew looked at each other, realized that from Orac’s point of view the cat was just as intelligent as any of them and far less trouble, and shrugged.

“Answers to the name of ‘Lucky’?” Jenna suggested. 

Gan enlarged on Vila’s generic suggestion (“Tom”). “What about that ancient pamphleteer? Thomas Paine?”

“Thomas Paine in the Arse,” Avon stage-whispered. 

Blake snuggled the cat and looked it straight in the eye. “You look like you’ve gained a good deal of hard-won wisdom, my friend. We will call you Odin.”

“Oi!” Vila said, as the last tin of pilchards disappeared into an artisanal ceramic bowl on which Blake had painted “Odin” in Jenna’s favorite nail polish.

The next week, Avon pressed his palm to the door of Blake’s cabin. Avon refused to ask for any special consideration in scheduling, which was fortunate as Blake declined to give any, so they didn’t always work the same schedule. It was forty-five minutes before the beginning of Blake’s shift, so Avon dropped over to see if Blake felt like a quickie. 

Blake held Odin’s front paws, dancing him up and down. “You’re a cat, you’re a cat, you’re a cat Cat CAT…” Blake crescendoed, to the tune of the theme from the Ride of the Valkyries. He loved the smell of kitty in the morning. 

“Oh, for a sick-bag of fire,” Avon said. “Blake, I hardly think that can come as news to that revolting object. I hope it hasn’t given you fleas.” 

Blake lifted Odin off his chest and boosted him off the bed. Odin landed with splay-limbed gracelessness and a squawk that Avon himself couldn’t have bettered. 

“Well, you’re welcome to come on over here and pick them off, if he has.” He unbuttoned an additional button of his pajama top. Avon sat down on the bed.

“Those are new,” Blake said, amused that Avon’s boots apparently came off in a spiral of zippered panels. 

“There’s a whole Wardrobe Room full of clothes that someone else already paid for,” Avon said. Ever since discovering the cadcam applet that served to break in his boots, he couldn’t see the point of wearing the same old ones all the time. 

A few minutes later, Jenna lifted a ring out of the jewelry vault in the Wardrobe Room. She felt something nudge at her ankles, and looked down. The damn thing was almost as good as Vila at getting into places. She tried on the ring. It didn’t fit on her ring finger. It barely slipped over her little finger, and wouldn’t be comfortable to wear. Odin whacked her instep with a paw, then followed with his nose. She pulled off the ring with her teeth. “All right,” she said, took off the fine gold chain around her neck, and threaded it through the ring. She hung it around Odin’s neck.

Just after Blake left for his work shift, Avon tiptoed down the corridor in his stocking (midnight blue cashmere) feet, holding the boots at arm’s length, en route to the nearest disposal. Odin had left a Letter of Comment.

The following month, Cally lobbied successfully for another supply run. She and Gan each carried a market basket on each arm, although Gan’s were deep wicker panniers. Cally shaded her eyes with a hand as she looked around the market’s assortment of colorful fruit carts. She started to say, “Let’s start with Honest Roscoe, he seems to have the most variety,” when all around them, a murmur began and rose to a roar. Row by row, the denizens of the village dropped to their knees.

“I say, this is going well,” Gan said. 

“It is the Chosen One! The Chosen One has come!” the crowd chanted. 

Gan and Cally looked at one another, wondering which one they meant. Blake had drafted a script to be memorized for just this situation, although each had annotated it, with Cally emphasizing the prophet’s interest in freeing the masses from the heels of their persecutors, and Gan emphasizing the Prince of Peace angle (as in not contacting the Federation to report the miracle). 

“Look at the medallion! It is He!” the extras rhubarbed. 

“Blake won’t like this much,” Gan said, as Odin braced himself on the rim of one of Gan’s market baskets, then leaped out and crashed down. He was soon borne off by a crowd of worshipers. Cally pointed out that, as Companions of the Chosen One, their money was no good in the market, and they soon filled their baskets (including replacement pilchards), but Gan said that they weren’t short of a bob or two, what with the Treasure Room. They teleported quickly, not wanting to hang about long enough for people to discover Odin’s actual personality. 

Two weeks later, Cally brewed up, in the small teapot. Gan and Avon were on their sleep shifts. She went to the flight deck, handed out mugs, and started to bite into a hodgeberry scone when she realized that there was a mug left on the tray and scones left on the plate. {{Oh, sod. I hope he’s all right}}.

Blake walked in from the teleport bay, this time carrying a proper carrier in one hand. “I’m fine, Cally,” he said. “Missing Odin, but I’ve taken care of that.”

“I think I’ve seen this vizzie,” Vila moaned. 

Blake unzipped the front panel of the carrier, proving that the Liberator was an equal opportunity employer: feline, as the heavily pregnant calico queen waddled out.

“Cats!” Blake said happily. “Now and forever!”


End file.
